The Places I've Cried in Public by Holly Bourne

towards upbeat. “Were you allowed to use the Bunsen burner?”
“How many times do I have to tell you there’s more to it than Bunsen
burners?”
“They’re the only reason you like science, and you need to stop lying to
yourself.”
Alfie laughed, but it was a sad one. I could hear Kimmy and Jessa
arguing somewhere near him. “I’d better go,” he said, “they’re eating all my
chips.”
I did not want the phone conversation to end. I did not want to lose the
sound of his voice. But we’d agreed to get on with this, we’d agreed to
accept the shitty situation for what it was. We’d agreed to put us on ice.
“It’s only two years,” Alfie had said, clutching my face the night before
I left, my entire sixteen years of life packed into cardboard boxes. “Then
we’ll both be at Manchester and we can be together again.”
“What if you can’t wait for me that long?”
“You know I will.”
“I don’t want you to feel tied to me and resent me,” I’d said, crying and
not sure I really meant it.
“I won’t. And neither will you. We agreed, remember? We’re free to do
anything with anyone, apart from falling in love.”
“It’s literally impossible for me to fall in love with someone who isn’t
you.”
I’d certainly meant it at the time.
We’d kissed and both cried and had sex for only the eighth time, and it
was bittersweet and clumsy and a bit snotty, but still lovely. Afterwards, we
stayed up all night, whispering about how amazing Manchester would be.
“Okay,” I said, only two weeks later – feeling like every centimetre of
distance between us was an individual knife in my stomach. “Thanks for
calling. I really appreciate it.” Another tear splashed onto my dress before I
had a chance to catch it.
“I’m so glad your first day went okay.”
“Me too…thanks again.”